


scars

by anattemptatwordbending



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Dadza, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), irl fic but its still the characters not the people, sbi, so this is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anattemptatwordbending/pseuds/anattemptatwordbending
Summary: The stories of Techno, Tommy, and Wilbur's scars.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 400





	scars

**Author's Note:**

> people give me nice comments like its not gonna make me immEDIATELY WRITE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE afjskdjgdfg but seriously thank u for all the comments and stuff makes me v happy

Techno’s scar ran straight across his face, from his cheek over his nose to his forehead. It was white, now, and thinner, though it would probably never fully heal. 

Techno remembered the night he got it, of course. He remembered the alley he’d been in, the graffiti on the walls and the cracked cement. He remembered the silver, but rusting knife pressed against his face. Some of the details were warped. He wasn’t sure whether the man’s eyes had really been that wild, or if the manic singing hadn’t just been something he imagined in the feverish pain afterwards.

He remembered running. Desperate, terrified. He couldn’t survive on the streets that vulnerable. Anyone could’ve done anything to him in that state, and he was lucky as hell that the first garage he stumbled into was Phil’s.

Phil hadn’t found him until the morning. He hadn’t slept, just curled up in the corner panting in pain. Phil must’ve been about to go to work, but when he saw the trembling kid in his garage he dropped everything.

Techno wouldn’t go inside at first. Inside sounded too much like a trap. So Phil brought him food and water and blankets, and had him change from his hoodie stained with blood to one of his own that was far too big. He brought him materials to wash his own face, because Techno wouldn’t let him get too close.

Techno didn’t believe the kindness was real, of course. There was going to be some sort of string attached. But all he cared about was survival. 

Techno was pretty sure that those weeks had been when he realized for the first time what love could be like. Phil telling him stories of fortresses and strongholds and zombies half his height to keep his mind off the pain. Coming home from one of his trips to the store with a leather-bound Greek mythology book for Techno to own all for himself. He never asked for anything in return.

Those should have been the worst weeks of Techno’s life. He was scared, and vulnerable, and he was in more pain than could possibly be described. But he always looked at them fondly, along with his scar. Hurt like hell, always going to remind him of pain, but worth it to him, because he found his family. 

~~~

None of Tommy’s scars meant more than any others. This one on his chest from a jab with someone’s heel, this one on his arm from being pushed against a doorframe, this one on his leg from trying to run away. He had lots, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember the story of each. 

He’d explained them all to Techno once. They’d been sitting curled up on the couches, Phil at work until late and Wilbur at a friend’s, and he’d gone through each of his scars, one by one, and told Techno the stories.

He didn’t know why he told him. Maybe, and it was selfish, but _maybe_ because of the way Techno’s shoulders tensed and his fists clenched, the way he got _angry_ at people for hurting Tommy. Tommy hadn’t realized anger could feel safe until Techno.

He’d told him about his families, the ones that didn’t even pretend to care and the ones that did, until Tommy fucked up and made them mad. He preferred the ones that were up front, he said, because then he knew what was coming. Techno had carefully braided his hair, but Tommy could see his hands shaking with anger.

It was a new feeling, someone being angry for him and not at him. He liked it. It was safe.

He hadn’t gotten any more scars since he found his family. No “accidents” when he did something annoying, no plates flung through alcohol-smelling air. 

He could get used to it. The safe feeling.

Tommy didn’t like his scars. They were ugly, in his opinion. And they reminded him of bad days, bad years. 

Techno didn’t look at them with disgust, though.

_“Look,” he said, pointing to one. “Represents an asshole who you’ve defeated.”_

_He pointed to another. “And that one. And that one. And that one. ASSHOLES, THE LOT OF YOU!”_

_Tommy fell off his chair giggling._

~~~

Wilbur’s scars were different. He didn’t want anyone to see them.

They were thin and straight and all right next to each other on his right arm. There were five of them. Five days that he hadn’t gone through with it. Some sort of twisted tally system. 

They all _knew_ they were there, disfiguring his skin and his mind. Phil had known first. And then Techno, and eventually Tommy too. He wished they didn’t. He wished he could erase the scars and the memories attached to them forever.

He didn’t feel guilty, for the scars. Angry, maybe. It wasn’t fair. Why should he have to be stuck with the broken pieces of a different person, a terrified kid who didn’t exist anymore? He just wanted to forget, but how could he, when it was right fucking there on his skin every moment of every day?

And it scared his family too, he knew it did. Phil always looked at him like he wanted to tell him, wanted to explain what made him do it so he could fix it. But Wilbur didn’t fucking know. And Techno always looked scared when he noticed them, like it was the one thing he didn’t know how to protect him from.

Wilbur wore a hoodie everywhere.

Tommy didn’t really understand them, and that was a relief. He didn’t treat them like a bomb like the other two did. Just a thing about Wilbur, like his floppy hair and his beanies and his brown eyes.

Wilbur tried to think about them like that. 

_Oh, those? They’re just scars. They were only important to old Wilbur, the one full of fear and hissing, spitting pain. Not me, I’m happy and I’m safe and I have no need to think about them anymore._

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i realized this is like my first technically not hurt/comfort thing ever *techno voice* what the heck
> 
> if u like it commente mayhaps ?


End file.
